THE NEW SHADOW: Stirrings of Rebellion
by musiclover73
Summary: Fourth Age sociopolitical drama. The decisions of major characters are called into question, and not everyone in the Fellowship can be trusted. As King of Gondor, Aragorn wonders if he can withstand the threat of foreign invasion, supernatural interference, and the possible return of the dark forces he once thought were vanquished forever. Multiple Fellowship/OC romances.
1. Prologue: Attempted Burglary

**THE NEW SHADOW: Stirrings of Rebellion**

**Synopsis: **Fourth Age sociopolitical drama. The decisions of major characters are called into question, and not everyone in the Fellowship can be trusted. As King of Gondor, Aragorn wonders if he can withstand the threat of foreign invasion, supernatural interference, and the possible return of the dark forces he once thought were vanquished forever. Multiple Fellowship/OC romances.

STIRRINGS

of  
REBELLION

**A/N:** Takes place in November in the 11th year of the Fourth Age, since by Gondor reckoning the Fourth Age began in March of 3021. For purposes of the fic, Frodo, Gandalf, Elrond, Galadriel, and Bilbo have not yet departed for the Undying Lands, and Eldarion was not born in 43, but one year after Arwen and Aragorn's marriage (making him 12 years old at the time of this story).

**Disclaimer:** _The Lord of the Rings _and _The Hobbit_ belong to JRR Tolkien, and the lovely cinematic adaptations to Peter Jackson and the talented folks at New Line.

**Warning:** If you are a diehard Tolkien purist, and don't expect some definite surprises and twists on the characters you think you know, may not be the story for you. However, I do approach the material out of a true respect for and appreciation of the legendarium, and always try to root the divergences in canon material, even if it is just a single line. And if I _do_ take some liberties, well, I feel justified by the words of Tolkien himself: _"I would draw some of the great tales in fullness, and leave many only placed in the scheme, and sketched. The cycles should be linked to the majestic whole, and yet leave scope for other minds and hands..."_

**NEW CHARACTERS REFERENCE**

**Adestan**—a mysterious man who seems to have control over the Sands of Time

**Alatar**—one of the Blue Wizards, recently returned from Rhûn

**Commander Paul Bates**—a physically and politically powerful military leader from modern-day Earth

**Lindeth**—Pallando's daughter; the only known child of an Istar; currently under Alatar's tutelage

**Princess Nara**—daughter of King Elessar and Queen Arwen, Eldarion's younger sister

**Siara**—a young woman gifted in sorcery, Alatar's pupil and Lindeth's close friend

**Valfelan**—the leader of the emerging Rebellion in Gondor, rumoured to be an Elf

**PROLOGUE: ATTEMPTED BURGLARY**

_"I think that they went as emissaries to different regions, east and south,… Missionaries to enemy occupied lands, as it were. What success they had I do not know; but I fear they failed, as Saruman did, though doubtless in different ways; and I suspect they were founders or beginners of secret cults and 'magic' traditions that outlasted the fall of Sauron."_

-J.R.R. Tolkien on the Blue Wizards, Alatar and Pallando

It was time.

Time to return to Middle Earth, after his lengthy sojourn in... another dimension, call it.

The lone thief who made his way across the land that was once referred to as "the Desolation of Smaug" was grateful for the superstitious ways of the Dwarves; it would make his plan that much easier. It was difficult for someone not of Dwarvish descent to penetrate their secretive world, but not impossible. They were strange creatures, the Dwarves, distrustful of outsiders and rather backwards in their customs. But one _particular _custom was going to ensure the success of this… burglary.

The War of the Ring was over, and had been for thirteen years. In the intervening time, Adestan the Fate had accomplished much, but there were more, so many more of his designs that he longed to see brought to fruition.

Adestan's mind wandered to the way Middle-Earth as a whole had reacted to the destruction of the One Ring. Of course, the Gondorians and the Rohirrim, who had lived in the Shadow of Mordor, had been jubilant upon the defeat of their Enemy, and even the Dwarves of Erebor and the Elves of Mirkwood had both seen battle on their home fronts during the War. But these were not all the peoples that comprised Middle-Earth. The Haradrim, of course, had surrendered to King Elessar, who had been undeniably merciful in his dealings with them. The unexplored region of Rhûn, however… that was a different story. It was rumoured that King Elessar had once traveled to Rhûn, but little was known about his fortunes there. Whatever Elessar's explorations had been, Adestan was quite sure they had been minimal, and utterly unequal to his own. Anyway, there were a few developments in Rhûn that Adestan _knew with a certainty_ had not been discovered by Elessar. And that was what mattered.

Middle-Earth at large mostly thought of Rhûn as consisting of nothing save the tribal warriors who had fought for Sauron and attacked the Eastern defenses of the Free Peoples. While it was certainly true that those primitive warrior nations existed, Rhûn was a vast—and diverse—land. There was much more hidden in its expansive deserts than most people suspected.

Even apart from the Easterlings, Adestan knew there were still those, even in the very heart of Minas Tirith, who secretly hoped for the return of Sauron. Of course, such thoughts would never be openly spoken of in Gondor, not under the reign of Elessar, who was at least as strong as he was merciful. Perhaps Sauron had once been a symbol of fear and enslavement, but he had represented other things as well. Power. Ambition. Control over the very laws of nature. Was there not something to be admired—even emulated—in those ideas? Adestan himself had no aspirations of being a new Dark Lord, of course, but out of a merely academic curiosity, he was interested in the dark powers that had cast a shadow over much of the Third Age. But he laughed at those who looked for or tried to bring about the return of Sauron. After all, who would look for the return of a Master who had made such a fatal mistake? For as great a Dark Lord as Sauron might have been, there could be no denial that he _had_ made mistakes, mistakes that had led to his downfall.

Adestan was not himself an Istar. It would have been difficult to pinpoint exactly what he was. But as he possessed...superhuman abilities, similar to the Istari, he found the company of Wizards very satisfying and often stimulating. He was by nature a social person, and he was fond of having philosophical discussions with wizards, whose numbers were greater than most people suspected. Endless conversations of magical what-ifs with no apparent applicability suited him very well. Adestan believed that the realm of sorcery made anything, _anything_, possible. And he was about to prove just how right he was. Because this time, he was about to put one of his theories to the test.

Adestan forced himself to focus on the task at hand, but it was not easy, not with his mind expostulating out all the possibilities that would become available to him if his formula were correct.

A wonderful thing, shape-shifting was, even if it was not the most comfortable and always left one with the fear that they would remain in their transformed state, never to return to their own form. Altering your form was not a gift that was very common in Middle-Earth, and in fact Adestan himself did not even possess it. But he had been able to _acquire_ shape-shifting magical energy from someone who _did_ possess it, and then bend the magic for his own purpose. And right now, his purpose was to become a Dwarf of Erebor, alike in dress, manner, and appearance. Thus, Adestan's normal height of six feet was reduced down to that of a dwarf; his normally clean-shaven face (he was rather vain about things like waxing regularly) sported a beard that extended down his chest; his normally trim waist (he was also rather vain about things like a sculpted abdomen) had filled out considerably; and he was dressed in chain mail and carried an axe- all of this before he was in sight of the guards who would surely be stationed outside the Lonely Mountain.

A hand gesture in _Iglishmêk_, the little-known sign language of the Dwarves, was sufficient to allow the magically-disguised Adestan to pass through the gates of Erebor without further questioning. Once within the Mountain, he found it difficult not to be momentarily distracted by the sheer grandeur of the Dwarves' halls. Although he had memorized in advance a map of the interior of the kingdom of Erebor, the drawings on the parchment bore little actual resemblance to the striking passages and chambers sprawling out before him. Besides, he was not immune to the lure of gold and jewels, even if he was not a dwarf. But soon he would possess a treasure far greater than any other, so he need not covet the wealth of the Dwarves. Therefore, with single-minded purpose, Adestan continued to make his way towards his goal, mentally ticking off how many corridors he had passed before he was supposed to turn left, and so on. Oh yes. He had prepared well for this most covert of missions.

And then he was there, outside the very chamber that housed the prize he desired. He told the guards standing before the entrance of the tomb that he wished to be permitted within, to pay his respects to the renowned hero of the Battle of Five Armies. At any other time, this request may not have been granted, but this was the very week during which the battle had taken place over seventy years ago. The Dwarves, precise about their mourning rituals, were diligent in preserving the memories of their fallen kin—and this particular Dwarf had been a war hero and a king. Of course he was still remembered and honoured.

Adestan was permitted to enter. There were several other Dwarves in the chamber, heads bowed, perhaps in prayer. Not for nothing had Adestan made acquaintance with several interesting and influential men from twenty-first century America and England, and he privately thought the idea of the Dwarves praying to Aulë was hilarious, but he would laugh about it later. When the Stone was secure.

Adestan was not truly capable of sorcery in the typical sense of the word, but he _had_ acquired a bottle of a potion which, when uncorked, caused the Dwarven mourners present to drop into a heavy and instant slumber. He had reason to appreciate that the halls of the Dwarves were not immune to magic, like the Elvenking's realm in Mirkwood, for example. Adestan allowed his disguise to fall away from him. He wanted to do this in his own form.

Without even feeling much guilt over disturbing the repose of the deceased, Adestan approached the elaborate stone coffin of the once-great King Under the Mountain, Thorin Oakenshield. There was, as Adestan had known there would be, a deliberately-carved hole at the head of the coffin. Dwarves believed that the spirits of their dead had to have a way to flee to the halls of Aulë, whom the Dwarves called _Mahal_; thus, the hole. Morbidly curious, Adestan peeked inside the aperture, expecting to see the remnants of a decaying skeleton.

He almost gave himself away with a cry of surprise. The Dwarf king's body must have been as unchanged as the day he was laid to rest; he might have been merely asleep.

A puzzling mystery, to be sure. Adestan considered the matter as he used the opening to pry off the top of the coffin, and concluded that surely the untouched state of Thorin Oakenshield must be due to the presence of the Arkenstone—a jewel which possessed literally unfathomable magical power. Adestan felt an almost electrical surge go through him as he cupped his hands around the timelessly beautiful white gem, the Arkenstone. He lifted it from the sleeping Thorin's breast, knowing instinctively that the jewel would be all he had hoped it would be. The stupid Dwarves had never bothered to find out if it had other uses—had the Elvenking known? Had Mithrandir?

No sense replacing the lid; the Dwarves would figure out sooner or later that the Arkenstone had been stolen. In that case, may as well take Orcrist, too. It was a legendary blade. Not that he'd be able to use it publicly, of course, without implicating himself. But it might be handy to have in a pinch. If it was a private duel… well, then, he wouldn't have to worry.

He refused to take a moment even to gloat over his impending success. It was time to get out of there, before he was caught.

Adestan smiled to himself, turning the Arkenstone over in his hands. _It was… _

Time.


	2. Number One: An Unexpected Gift

**Disclaimer:** _The Lord of the Rings _and _The Hobbit_ belong to JRR Tolkien, and the lovely cinematic adaptations to Peter Jackson and the talented folks at New Line.

**NUMBER ONE: AN UNEXPECTED GIFT**

"Elessar, I do not believe this decision to be wise," Arwen said firmly to her husband, the authority in her voice ringing through the empty throne room. A wife demurring to her husband might be traditional in most of Middle-Earth, but most wives were not thousands of years older than their husbands, with that much more wisdom and experience.

Although Arwen gripped the arms of her throne in frustration, the king had already stood, clearly ready to put aside the cares of his position for the evening. Without war and the threat of Sauron constantly hanging over his head, Aragorn believed in making his family life just as much of a priority as his service to the people of Gondor.

"The hour grows late, Arwen," he said. "Shadows already darken the hall. Would you not rather retire now, my queen, and continue this discussion in the morning?" The mild, hopeful invitation was hidden, but it was there.

Arwen was undeterred. "Elessar, this concerns our _son._ It is up to you to put a stop to it. They will listen to you."

Aragorn sighed. "I have contested the implementation of this measure at court for years, Arwen, but now that your father publicly supports the idea... it is difficult for me to continue to refuse. My advisers put faith in Elrond's wisdom and foresight, with good reason. You and your father are usually of one accord. It is rare for you to disagree with him."

"If I had not opposed my father once before, Elessar, I would be far away from you and from this life that is worth more to me than the value of the Silmarils. I would be lost in the ancient beauty of the lands of the Valar on some distant shore, and I would be lost to you forever."

Aragorn's spirit recoiled from even the _idea_ of being eternally separated from Arwen, and took her feminine hand in his own.

"My father is mistaken, Elessar," she went on. "There is nothing wrong with our child."

"Arwen, do you truly believe that the emergence of these powers in Eldarion means that there is something 'wrong' with him? The Istari have much respect in Middle-Earth. Your own people have a form of Elvish 'magic.' There is nothing for him or for us to be ashamed of. Besides," he added with a tender smile, "the joining of the races of Elves and Men is no common thing. Is it not to be expected that some uncommon gifts would arise out of such a union?"

She could not help softening in the face of that smile. "What you say is so, my husband, but the Istari were _sent_ to Middle Earth from Valinor. They were not born on these shores."

"We can only presume about the origins of the Istari, my lady," he countered lightly. "Gandalf claims he has no recollection of the first hundred or so years of his life, although I do not know if his honesty can be completely relied upon in this instance."

Arwen did _not_ want to be charmed out of her worry, which she believed was legitimate. But it was so hard to stay anxious in the face of Aragorn's lighthearted reassurances. An unwilling smile split her features. It was so good to see him this way. After thirteen years, it still was such a joy to her to see Elessar like this, instead of careworn and battle-weary, as he had been for so many decades.

Aragorn took her chin. "We cannot deny what is right before our eyes. Eldarion is gifted, Arwen, and I think perhaps he may not be the only one. He may never be a 'wizard' in the sense of the word as it applies to Gandalf, but his abilities are greater than can be attributed to mere Elvish magic."

"Never have I heard the magic of the Eldar referred to as 'mere'," Arwen sniffed, her pique only partially feigned. "I do believe that reigning as King of the Reunited Kingdom is affecting your modesty."

"I am sure that Gandalf will agree with you," Aragorn rejoined. "I followed his lead during the Quest of Mount Doom, and I believe he expects me to continue doing just that. But this situation affects more than the kingdom. As you have pointed out, this affects our son and our family. I am now a husband and a father, and while I respect Gandalf's opinion, I must do what my heart tells me is right. Though it was Gandalf who encouraged me to take up the throne of Gondor, I realize now that he is of the belief that my authority has some limitations, at least where he is concerned. Gandalf firmly opposes your father's counsel, and expects me to do as he advises. He has a maddening habit of believing he is always right."

"He has a more maddening habit of almost always being right," Arwen could not resist adding. "You should listen to him."

"Gandalf believes I should listen to him, your father believes I should listen to _him._ What is a man to do when there are two exceedingly wise men, both trusted friends, who give him conflicting counsel?"

Arwen's answer was swift. "He should listen to his wife."

Aragorn chuckled. "My concern for my son is greater than my desire to avoid offending Gandalf, trusted friend though he is. I know in your heart you also think it is the right decision. Do not give in to fear of the unknown, Arwen. We must choose the best path for our son."

Arwen looked away for a moment, then said, "You intend to grant the Wizard Alatar leave to begin educating children who show promise in… sorcery?"

"Yes. Your father has strongly implied that there should be a new Council of the Wise in place, trained by those with more experience, since he and Gandalf and Galadriel…" Aragorn's voice trailed off at the look of pain on his wife's face.

"…since Gandalf and Galadriel and my father have begun to speak of making plans to travel over the Sea," Arwen finished for him in a flat voice.

"I am sorry," Aragorn broke in. "I spoke without thinking. I should not have brought it up. The thought of your father's departure is a source of pain to you."

Arwen closed her eyes. "You need not attempt to shield me. I know what my father intends. He thinks of leaving these shores, of rejoining my mother. It will break Eldarion's heart. His young mind will not understand why his grandfather chooses to leave him."

"The question of mortality and immortality is easy for no one to understand, regardless of age. Our choices are often complicated, Arwen. Sometimes those we love have difficulty understanding why we are compelled to follow certain paths. But this I know. Eldarion has the wisdom and understanding of one far beyond his young age. He is half-Elven himself, as you are well aware. The Elvish part of his nature will understand if your father does indeed choose to go over the Sea."

She fell silent, pondering this. In the silence, he stroked her hand, giving her time to think.

Finally, she said, "Do you not think that our sanctioning the use of sorcery will jeopardize our good relations with any other nations?"

She had evidently decided to drop the subject of Elrond's leaving for the time being, and Aragorn had no desire to press her to dwell on a matter which was obviously so painful for her.

"Perhaps Éomer will be skeptical," Aragorn said after a moment. "It is hard for his mind to forget the evils of Saruman, and Grima Wormtongue, and for that I cannot blame him. It is right to be cautious when handling any power… and sorcery is no exception. That is why I wish for Eldarion to properly educated. He must learn caution, restraint, and respect in the usage of these innate gifts… but this is no different than learning to be judicious and merciful in the usage of weaponry—"

"—at which he already possesses no little skill," Arwen laughed, finally allowing her melancholy to give way to lightheartedness. "You have spent a great deal of time in ensuring that he will be as great a swordsman as you!"

"One day it will fall to him to lead armies. Of course I wish him to skilled…" Aragorn attempted to defend himself.

"And your own pride has nothing to do with your desire to see Eldarion acquit himself well?" Arwen prompted teasingly.

"I wish to see Eldarion be a man of great skill and greater honour," Aragorn said, completely serious, "but for his own sake, not my own."

"He has a great deal to live up to," Arwen mused.

"There is nothing wrong with a boy having high expectations to meet," Aragorn told her. "Your father was right to impose certain criterion upon me. Eldarion will rise to the challenges set before him."

"A mother's tenderness sees more clearly than a father's ambition," Arwen argued. "Eldarion says things to me he would not confide in you, because he knows how you feel, because he desires you to be proud of him…" she hesitated, "…because I know he feels he must _earn_ your love."

"How can you say that?" Aragorn asked her, genuinely hurt and surprised. "You know that I love our son. And Eldarion knows that I love him."

Arwen let the statement stand, neither accepting nor rejecting it.

"Perhaps it is this burden of sorcery, of magic, which is weighing on him so. He seems such a somber, serious child. His mother's heart would be happier if he would laugh and smile more," she said.

"In time, he will come to see that it is no burden, but a gift. Unexpected, perhaps, but a gift nonetheless. I truly believe this, Arwen. Tomorrow, I will speak to my Council, and then I will begin the process of searching for a sorcery tutor for Eldarion."

"But I thought Gandalf would train him," Arwen said with some alarm.

"Even if Gandalf could be persuaded to change his mind about magical education, he often leaves Gondor with little or no warning, when he is needed in other kingdoms for his wisdom and ability. Eldarion's sorcery lessons need to be consistent and stable, not suspended for months at a time. We will find someone whose chief responsibility will be to help train the future King of Gondor, the future King of the Reunited Kingdom."

She smiled at him, and rose from her throne. "I will meet you in our chamber. I wish to ensure that our son's sleep is peaceful before I retire."

As Arwen quitted the chamber, Aragorn bit back the urge to say that Eldarion was too old for such attending, but he did not want to instigate another disagreement with his wife. In spite of her gentle nature and womanliness, Arwen had strong opinions about _every_ aspect of court life; but in matters concerning Eldarion, she could be as rigid as the mithril city gates the Dwarves had built to replace the ones which had been breached during the Siege of Gondor. Aragorn had no objection whatever to her strong-mindedness; in fact, that was one of the things which drew him to her so strongly. No man wished to have a weak-willed and dependent wife who was content to be guarded and ruled by her husband, especially not a man who valued strength and independence as much as Aragorn did.

This line of reflection naturally turned his thoughts to Éowyn, who had exhibited strength and independence more than any other woman—and many men—he had known. Of course, he no longer thought of her in _that_ way, not anymore. Aragorn was firmly in love with his wife; and it gave him every joy to know that Éowyn had found her own happiness with Faramir.

But—if he was being honest with himself, he knew that there was one thing which had made it easier than anything else to put aside his thoughts of Éowyn. He had heard that after the conclusion of the War, she had decided that she would be a shieldmaiden no more, nor vie with the warriors, but that she would be a healer. Yes, he had been happy that she had found contentment, but this declaration of hers had also caused him a little disappointment.

And he knew why. He wanted to think it wasn't just him. There were times—they were rare—when Aragorn had to discipline his mind not to chafe at the domestic and political life that was now his. But he found that he could never quite explain or admit this to anyone, barely himself, though he had, on one occasion, confided in Legolas.

* * *

_"Your spirit is restless, my friend. What is it that troubles you?"_

_ "It is better for me to remain silent, Legolas. My thoughts cause me great shame."_

_ This appeared to worry the Elf. "Aragorn…you are not still thinking of…?"_

_ "Of Lady Éowyn?" Aragorn finished for him. "No, Legolas. Do not think me so vile as that."_

_ "I am sorry," Legolas said quickly. "You know that I do not judge you, Aragorn. I did not mean to imply that you would allow even your thoughts to stray to evil. But I can think of nothing else that would cause you to withhold your confidence from me. If you will not tell me, I am forced to speculation. Come, Aragorn. Unburden your mind. I cannot bear to think of a man so honorable as you wrestling with thoughts that cause you shame."_

_ Aragorn hesitated, but the kindness and understanding on his friend's face gave him courage to proceed. He spoke with the air of one revealing a long-suppressed secret. "For nearly one-hundred years I was trained and groomed for one purpose and one purpose only, Legolas: to challenge the darkness of Sauron, if it was possible for mortal man to do so."_

_ "You have done this," Legolas swiftly assured him. "The evil of Sauron is no more."_

_ "It was not by my hand that Sauron was defeated," Aragorn said._

_ "You know well the part you played in his overthrow," Legolas said sensibly. "You have no need to be overmodest with me, Aragorn. Let us speak plainly of your deeds in the War. It is true that many men may claim to have had a hand in Sauron's fall, the Hobbits not least among them, but your valour and your deeds are surely not the least remarkable. Without you, much may have been different."_

_ Aragorn closed his eyes as if the admission was painful. "If your words are true, Legolas, if my spirit or my strength distinguished me among even the valiant and honourable Men of the West—that same spirit still dwells within me, and cries out for use. That same strength is still in my blood. For years, I cultivated faculties which would be of use to me and to others during time of war. Now, that time is no more, but there is no more need for... what I am capable of." _

_ Aragorn opened his eyes, and Legolas could see the pain and confusion therein. _

_ "Aragorn… if you long for deeds of heroism and a time of valour again… you would not be the first to feel that way," Legolas began._

_ "Surely it cannot be merely that, a desire for honour and glory. Surely, surely, Legolas, I am a man above such small and selfish desires."_

_ "You are human, Aragorn. And you judge yourself very harshly."_

_ "I am disgusted with myself," he admitted._

_ "In a way, you have allowed yourself to be used," Legolas said. "You have used yourself. As a weapon. As a tool. You must give yourself time to adjust to a life of serenity and an age of peace." _

_ Aragorn breathed out slowly. Perhaps Legolas was right. Perhaps he just needed more time._

* * *

Arwen seated herself on the edge of her son's bed. She bore a candle that illuminated Eldarion's face—a perfect blend of the beauty of the Elves and the strength of Men. She marveled over his perfect features, relaxed in sleep. Was there ever a child so perfectly formed? His long hair was lighter than Aragorn's, but were he to open his eyes, they would be the same Dúnedain-grey as his father's. His skin was smooth and pale, like hers, and there was, to her delight, still something of a child's chubbiness about his face. He was a beautiful child, and she knew with a mother's certainty that he would one day grow into a handsome man. But that day was still far off in the future, she reassured herself. She was not anxious for him to grow up too soon. She knew that Aragorn privately thought she coddled Eldarion too much, but Arwen knew that Aragorn would understand someday, when Eldarion was grown and it was too late. She, however, was going to have no regrets.

Arwen smoothed the hair back from Eldarion's face, in order to press a kiss against his forehead. "Sleep," she whispered softly to him. The young prince sighed and shifted.

Carefully, so as not to disturb him, she rose from the mattress, covering the light of the candle with her free hand as she turned towards the door.

Something suddenly arrested her attention, and she turned quickly back to her son, narrowing her eyes. What was it that she had seen? Was it some troubling dream that had caused that momentary shadow to appear so transiently over Eldarion's face? She was about to bend and wake him, but her people valued dreams too highly for her to so thoughtlessly disturb him. Perhaps the child's dream was even prophetic. It was not unreasonable for her to assume he might have inherited his grandfather's gift of foresight.

She breathed a sigh of relief. He looked peaceful enough now. Perhaps it was even her own anxiety for the boy which had imagined that shadow into being. She smiled, willing the worry to subside, and left Eldarion to his dreams, determining that she would question him carefully about it in the morning.

**A/N: Reviews and constructive criticism are, naturally, appreciated. Thanks for reading. More to come. **


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